


Raise a Glass

by eveshka



Series: Tales of the Dawn King [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveshka/pseuds/eveshka
Summary: Raise a glass for Ignis.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Characters: Prompto Argentum, Gladiolus Amicitia, Stasios Teleon (OC), Licinia Ferrae (OC), Jonstabas Hostin (OC)  
> Time Period: After the Epilogue of In the Shadow of Loss  
> Location: Lestallum

Prompto had told Gladio that he was going in uniform. That had surprised Gladio, and the older man realized (not for the first time) how little he knew this Prompto.

This wasn't the young nervous creature that wanted to stop the car every half hour to get out and take photos of everything. He didn't jump at his own shadow, or complain about the temperature. He wasn't lost in a game on his phone or snickering at tasteless photos with trite words plastered over them.

This man stood straight, shoulders back and head high. His blue eyes tracked multiple things at once, as if always on alert for an enemy to leap out of the shadows and attack. His left hand stayed close to the pistol on his leg.

This was Prompto grown tall and hard, scars of battles on body and soul, and he wore his uniform like a second skin. He moved with it, rather than in it, and Gladio had to admit, he looked good, what a Kingsglaive should be. It twisted within him, though. Prompto should never have had to lose his light.

 

When they arrived at the Leville, they were directed to the board room, and though the door was open, it was quiet within, and they stepped into the darkened room with hesitation.

Gladio's gaze swept the room, recognizing Licinia and another member of the Kingsglave of years ago, though he couldn't recall the man's name. They were in uniform as well, and Gladio stuffed down both the pride that Prompto had known and the shame that he had not.

"Argentum. Amicitia," Licinia greeted, motioning them to approach. "Over here, if you will. When Teleon arrives, we will begin."

As he followed Prompto over, the blonde paused and saluted the table that was nearby. Set for one, Gladio's stomach fell as he looked over and realized what he was seeing. A white tablecloth, a red flower in a vase, lemon and salt on the smaller plate. The single lit candle wrapped in a black ribbon. The chair placed just so. A table for the fallen. For Ignis. He bowed, hand clasped over his heart. When he stepped away, his heart ached and his eyes burned, and he found he couldn’t look at Prompto.

The air settled about them as if in taciturn agreement, but before it could stretch into an uncomfortable weight, the door opened again and Stasios stepped within. He was silent himself, uniform pristine, though his hands clutched something as he moved to the table and carefully placed the skull necklace on the plate before saluting, bowing his head, and offering a quiet wordless song.

Gladio said nothing, but felt Prompto’s quick fingers brush against his for a moment, catching his hand in a tight grip. A quick glance showed him that Licinia held Prompto’s hand on the other side, and then the other man’s beyond that. Solidarity. Support. Kinship. Gladio wasn’t sure what hurt more, the thought that they’d cobbled together the ritual from the old Kingsglaive memorials, or that this was for _Ignis_.

 

After the final note had floated into silence, Stasios turned and moved to each of them, starting with Gladio. His eyes were sad, but a smile turned those full lips upwards, and he pressed a kiss to each of Gladio’s cheeks before moving to repeat the motions with Prompto, Licinia, and the other Kingsglaive that Gladio still couldn’t remember.

At length, hands were unclasped and they moved to the table set for the five of them, though no-one took a seat. Instead, Stasios moved to pour glasses of wine, passing them around until everyone had a glass in front of them.

But then, Stasios picked up a sixth glass, filling it to half with wine and raised above his head, speaking. “At every board a vacant chair fills with quick tears some tender eye, and at our maddest sport appear those well-loved forms that will not die; we lift the glass, our hand is stayed - we jest, a specter rises up - and weeping, though no word is said, we kiss and pass the silent cup.”

He lowered the glass, handing it to Gladio. Gladio paused for a moment, bowing his head over the glass and then took a sip before passing it to Prompto. The blonde took it quietly, lifting it in the air in salute before taking his own sip. He passed it to Licinia, who bowed her own head and then took a sip. She passed it to the other, who saluted it before sipping and passing it back to Stasios.

Stasios drew a finger down the side of the glass, then brought the glass to his lips and finished the wine, moving to the table set for Ignis, inverting the glass and settling it next to the candle, completing the setting before saluting again, and turning to those at the table.

“Hostin. Ferrae. Argentum. Amicitia,” Stasios looked to each as he named them. _Jonstabas_ , Gladio remembered belatedly. _Jon_. “Thank you for coming. For as much as he protested that he was nothing special, Ignis was special to all of us. Tonight is for him. Please,” he motioned to the table and pulled out his own chair, though he waited for the others to sit before he sat. “Let us eat and drink and share our memories that he never pass forgotten.”

They raised their glasses, brought them together in a toast, murmuring Ignis’ name, and then drank to their lost comrade, kinsman, friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the night begins.

The meal had been light, though surprisingly good, and they had eaten quietly, drinking the wine and each thinking fondly of the man who was missing. Finally, after the last dish had been cleared and more wine had been poured, Gladio leaned forwards and spoke, surprising Prompto.

“The first time I laid eyes on Ignis, he was nose deep in a book, glasses sliding off his nose, lips moving with the words. Guess he must have been seven or so. All I knew was this solemn little kid showed up and everyone said he was going to be the Prince’s right hand man.” Gladio chuckled a little, sipping his wine. “I remember wondering how this kid that couldn’t read without moving his lips was supposed to be anything for anybody.”

Oh, if only Prompto had known this before. He would have given Ignis so much hell. (And then confessed he’d done the same until High School.) “Hey, at least you knew him when he was cute. He scared the crap out of me when I first saw him. I thought he was so much older, you know? Standing there by the car, all solemn and stiff.”

Stasios leaned forwards, looking at the two men. “Oh, do tell. I wasn’t lucky enough to know him as a child. Was he cute, or was he always so steadfast and serious?”

Gladio nearly snorted his wine. “He was both. He and Noct had that softness that came with being kids, and that made every woman that got near the pair of them want to pinch their cheeks.” He started laughing again at a memory. “You want indignant? Picture an eight year old trying to be a serious companion to the Prince while his cheeks are getting pinched to rosy by the visiting dignitaries’ wife. Ignis frequently looked like an indignant cat.”

Prompto tried to imagine that. He could see Noctis as a child in his head, but Ignis? No way. “Oh come on, Gladio. We all know that Ignis sprang fully aged from the mold. He was never a child.”

That made everyone laugh softly, and Gladio held up a hand. “No, no, he was definitely a child. A solidly serious child, but he was… hang on… I should have….” He fished out his phone and started thumbing through the photos. “Ah-ha! I’d snapped this one of young Noct to show Lady Lunafreya…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Anyway, there’s Ignis, to Noct’s right.” He passed his phone across to Stasios.

 

In the photo of the photograph now very likely lost to the rubble of Insomnia, a young Noctis stood front and center. The young Prince was looking at the camera with a shy smile that only the immediate Crownsguard would recognize, but Stasios paid that little attention. His dark eyes were on the figure beside Noctis, a mop of sandy brown hair tousled over glasses slightly too big, green eyes steady at the camera, lips thin in a childish attempt at a professionally detached smile.

“By the Six,” Stasios breathed, “He was adorable.” He turned the phone for the others to see, and Licinia hid her quiet ‘aww’ behind her hand.

Prompto, who had never known Ignis as anything other than the slim and solemn young man blinked in surprise. “Wait, I know that picture… that was _Ignis_???” Wide blue eyes moved from the phone to Gladio, and Prompto audibly closed his mouth when Gladio nodded. “Oh Em Gee.”

 

It was several more minutes before Gladio’s phone made its way back around the table to him, and he took it, looking at the screen quietly for a moment before pocketing the device. “Feels like another lifetime ago now.”

His words made the tone of the room turn somber again, and Prompto raised his glass a little too quickly. “Yeah. Damn straight it does.” The words echoed back to the ones he’d given Noctis not that long ago, sparking the pain of tears in his eyes, and he drained his wine before setting it down and rising from the table a little too quickly. “Sorry… need some air.”

All but stumbling over himself to escape the room, Prompto moved, his feet on automatic. Right hand clutched left, thumb sweeping back and forth over the tattoo that he chose. CXIV. Noctis. He slipped through the half-open doors of the Leville and pressed through the heat towards the overlook, stopping only when he’d made it down the first flight of stairs and drifted off to the right.

 

Prompto Argentum would never have considered throwing himself off the overlook, but the man who followed him out of the Leville didn’t know that. He didn’t know this blonde force of nature, only saw a soul in pain and could not help himself. And so, when Prompto caught himself up against the ledge and gasped out a choked sob, it was Stasios who stopped next to him, a hand gentle but firm on the young man’s shoulder.

They stood there like that for a while before Stasios spoke, his voice low, the words only for Prompto. “I used to come out here and watch him fight daemons. The flickers of blue as he summoned weapons beyond my reach proved to me he was still alive, much, I understand, as the weapons themselves proved to you that our King yet lived.”

“Yeah,” Prompto said, his voice shaky. His hand moved in reflex, as if to summon the pistol that was now sheathed at his leg. There was no flash of blue, no hard feeling of crystal that solidified into cold metal. They were both gone, Noctis and Ignis, and Prompto, standing there staring out into the fading light didn’t know how to cope.

So he did the one thing he knew how to do: he stuffed it down into the spot behind his heart and put a smile on his face. He had, after all, learned to lie convincingly. “Sorry… had to clear my lungs, you know? Gets to you, being inside, after years of living in the night air. Didn’t mean to drag you away from Ignis’ memorial. You good? We can-“ his words came to a stop as Prompto turned to see that the others had followed along quietly, and were seated at a table over where the food vendor used to be so long ago.

“You are right, he hated being cooped up inside too. His favorite place was on the balcony, overlooking the street, a glass of tea in hand while he listened to the world. Come, let us rejoin the others,” Stasios smiled back to Prompto and gently led the way, his hand still on the blond’s shoulder.

“Prompto and I were just discussing how Ignis much preferred to be outdoors. Did you know that I used to come out here to watch him fight daemons? Scariest thing I’ve ever done, honestly.” Stasios patted Prompto’s shoulder as the blond slowed next to the table. “But truly, how do you convince a blind man that the world he navigates is a dark and scary place?”

“You don’t.” Gladio rumbled, though he looked at Prompto as he spoke. “You learned better than to try.”

Prompto reached out and took the glass that Licinia held out to him. “And that, my friends, is the Six-damned truth right there.” Prompto swung his leg over the bench and leaned forwards as Stasios sat next to him. “If there was one thing you did not do, it was tell Ignis Scientia what to do. At least, not if you wanted to eat something other than canned grease or cup noodles.”

“Hey, I like cup noodles!” Gladio interjected, making everyone laugh, but Prompto just grinned at him and held up his hand, staying off anything else Gladio might have said.

“I’m not totally against them, Gladio, but you have to admit, when Iggy was pissed off at you, your dinner choices let you know how mad he was. Now, see… a lot of you don’t know it, but Noctis hated vegetables…”

**Author's Note:**

> When I was growing up, I spent many hours in the various parks and historical areas of Charleston SC. One of my favorite small parks was Washington Square, and the Washington Light Infantry monument within held an inscription that stayed in my memory, no matter where I went in life.
> 
> And so, it is the speech that Stasios gives, for the moment I decided I needed to write the raising of the glass for Ignis, I knew the quote belonged within the fiction. Needs must, I did some digging to learn who had originally written it so that I might attribute it properly.
> 
> Without further ado, the quote:
> 
> At every board a vacant chair  
> Fills with quick tears some tender eye,  
> And at our maddest sport appear  
> Those well loved forms that will not die.  
> We lift the glass, our hand is stayed –  
> We jest , a spectre rises up –  
> And weeping, though no word is said,  
> We kiss and pass the silent cup.
> 
> In many cases, the quote is listed in books unattributed, and often not in its entirety. However, due diligence determined the source: ”Our Christmas Hymn” written by John Dickson Bruns.


End file.
